


Lift Me When I Fall

by Kevin_Mask (Nikolai_Knight)



Category: Kinnikuman Nisei | Ultimate Muscle
Genre: Cutting, Depression, Emotional Support, Friendship, Gen, Recovery, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 18:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18371243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Kevin_Mask
Summary: Mantaro awakens after a suicide attempt.Ikemen seeks to provide him with emotional support in his recovery.





	Lift Me When I Fall

_The door closed._

_Mantaro pressed his eye to the peephole. The hallway beyond was empty, while only the odd clatter of housekeeping drifted by with a wonky trolley, and a few people giggled on the stairwell, as moonlight drifted in through an open window. He pulled back. The door-bar remained unlatched, while the keys sat nestled tidily on a side-table. Mantaro tested the handle; the door opened with ease, before he closed it again with a sigh._

_The hotel room was dark; only the television provided any light, as the flickering screen cast shadows over the perfect made bed, and the room . . . devoid of personal effects, absent of any luggage . . . was an impersonal space that left no real impression. Mantaro pushed his thumbs into the corners of his eyes. He stopped when sparks of colour appeared. The silence rang out and emphasised every thought and every emotion, as there was no one to counter the screams from inside his mind. His heart raced until he heard nothing else._

_‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered._

_Tears pricked at his eyes. He took in fast and shallow breaths, while he fumbled with his phone  . . . finger poised over “Jacqui”, scrolling through to “Terry” . . . a churn of his stomach and the bile in his throat. It burned. He breathed faster, while his vision distorted with unshed tears. The screen was a blur. There was “Rinko” . . . “Meat”, “Gazelleman”, “Dad”, “Kevin”, “Ramenman” . . . not one felt right. He flicked and flicked, until his breath caught in his throat and a long high-pitched wail escaped him. He threw the phone._

_It collided hard against the wall, where the glass screen shattered. Mantaro fell to his knees just before the_ en suite _that let loose vast clouds of steam. The tears raced down his cheeks. It burned his skin and stung his eyes, while his lips trembled and his hands shook, and the taste of salt and iron filled his mouth, as he struggled to crawl to the bathroom. A box-cutter sat extended on the marble . . . the clean and unused blade a welcome sight . . ._

_‘I’m sorry,’ sobbed Mantaro. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’_

_It was a mantra on his lips. He snatched at the blade and collapsed, as he huddled on his side in a foetal position, and wracked cries distorted every “sorry” from his lips. The contortions on his face were ugly and defiant. A terrible black hole swept over him . . . consuming him, as he pulled back on his sleeve to expose the thin blue lines of his wrist. A ball of pain welled in his abdomen, while the blade shook with his trembling hand. He held the blade an inch from the unmarked skin. The floor seemed to move beneath him, as he grew light-headed._

_‘I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry . . .’_

_He swiped downward . . ._

* * *

“Mantaro? Mantaro!”

A cold draught blew in through the _en suite_. It struck against his cheeks, while his eyes struggled to open with the heavy weight of exhaustion, and the marble of the claw-footed bathtub swam in and out of his vision. The swaying of the room increased when something muscled and arm wrapped around his waist, and he was yanked forward into a sitting position, even as his head lolled backwards. He was propped against a wall.

The large and looming figure of a man appeared before him, while pressure was applied to his wrist, and a stinging pain shot through him. He hissed. Every nerve was aflame, as his body jerked and instinct brought his hand to the makeshift tourniquet . . . _‘Mantaro, you need to leave this in place’_. . . a firm tone, but one with an upper-class air and a shaky tone that spoke of an underlying panic. The towel around his wrist was tied tight. A loud clatter echoed out, as the box-cutter was kicked across the room, and a damp cloth touched his face.

It brought him slowly around to reality, as his eyes finally focussed. The throbbing in his wrist matched the beat of his heart, while the outline of the man sharpened, and a beam of light reflected from the golden chest-plate, while blond locks appeared dark in the shadows of the bathroom. A muscular arm shot outward. It pulled at the cord for the light-switch, flooding the small room with light and sending a piecing pain through his retinas. A high-pitched cry escaped Mantaro’s lips, as he instinctively shielded his eyes.

The sharp white light soon faded, as his eyes adjusted to his environment. He rapidly blinked. It was difficult to focus with bloodshot eyes, while his mouth ran dry and his throat burned, and he dropped his arm to his side, only to cry out when pressure struck his wound. A curse escaped Ikemen, who darted back to his side and re-examined the cut beneath the bloodied fabric, and the stench of iron filled the air around them. Ikemen mumbled out:

“It’s – ah – it’s me . . . Ikemen.”

Ikemen half-crouched. He grabbed a glass from the sink, before he filled it with cold water and pressed it to Mantaro’s lips, and Mantaro – drinking hungrily – saw his expression . . . _pity, fear . . ._ Mantaro coughed. The way his throat closed kept the water inside, lingering and tickling at his throat, and soon he choked . . . retched . . . Ikemen leaned him forward, while patting his back with incoherent sounds and rushed words. Mantaro fought to breathe.

The emotion came rushing back . . . he clawed at his throat, while shaking his head . . . _‘no, no, no’_. . . a look to Ikemen revealed the sheer terror, as Ikemen raised his hands in a gesture somewhere between surrender and placation. Mantaro froze. Everything changed in a few seconds, as realisation dawned nothing would be the same again. The tears streamed down his cheeks, as his chest contracted and tightened, and all air left him, as he leaned forward and wept in earnest. It was like a shattering of glass. Ikemen whispered:

“What – What happened here, Mantaro?”

 _No more._ Mantaro cried until mucus and tears merged in an unattractive sight, while his body shook and his hands closed of their own accord, sending adrenaline through him as panic struck, and he rocked back and forth, back and forth . . . _alone_ . . . the hands that touched him were light and barely noticed. Ikemen sat beside him and pulled him close, until he was held against that armour and rested his head against a strong chest. He cried and cried until there were no more tears left to cry, while Ikemen hushed him with a low voice.

Time stopped. Eventually the tears dried up, while Ikemen gently helped Mantaro to his feet, and – on autopilot, half-conscious – Mantaro was guided to the bed and slowly laid down on the pristine sheets. He curled into a ball, while Ikemen sat beside him. The mattress dipped under his heavy weight. A hand reached toward him, only to pause and pull back, but a long sigh followed and the hand came back . . . it touched his shoulder. Mantaro choked out:

“H-How’d you find me here?”

A touch of soft fingers followed. They stroked at his tuft of hair. Mantaro half-closed his eyes, while memories of his childhood flooded back . . . _lying in bed embraced by his mother, soft lullabies as she fought away the nightmares, the laughter of his father and a new plush toy . . ._ a broken smile crossed his lips. Ikemen hummed some odd tune, one from Planet Kinniku, and lifted his head until he rested his cheek on a muscled thigh. It was an odd intimacy from a potential brother-in-law, a strict employer, and a casual friend. Mantaro confessed:

“I – I chose this place because I didn’t want anyone to find me.”

“You mean so no one would find your _body_?”

Mantaro flinched, as a cold sweat broke over him. The towel about his wrist was slowly unravelled, enough to bring a loud hiss of breath as fabric clung to the wound, and Ikemen muttered an apology, as he gently turned his arm to examine the cut. A brief command to Mantaro was enough for him to flex his fingers. No nerve or muscle damage. The dried blood on his forearm flaked and itched, while the skin around the gash was red and inflamed, and Ikemen sighed as he abandoned Mantaro for a brief few seconds. Mantaro closed his eyes.

The room fell silent, while he lay boneless on the bed, and a tap was turned on somewhere within the _en suite_. Mantaro stared ahead. There was numbness inside . . . no pain, no sadness, no anything . . . somehow it was worse than the agonising oblivion. Ikemen quickly returned and sat back on the bed, as he lifted Mantaro back into his previous position, and took his hand in order to start to clean the wound. He moved slowly with a gentle touch.

“So,” said Mantaro. “You’re not going to answer how you found me?”

“It was quite easy to find you.” Ikemen sighed. “You _are_ aware that this hotel caters to members of the Muscle League, hmm? They always call me, as the chairman, any time there’s an unauthorised expense made to a wrestler’s account. This is _meant_ to be a place for those from abroad to stay during tournaments, not for those already living in Japan.”

“So you came down in person to throw me out?”

“Well, _no_ ,” admitted Ikemen. “I came down to check on you, because you came without any luggage and your friends say you’ve been acting strangely as of late. Our Jacqui is most upset, as she seems to think you might be somewhat upset, and . . . I suppose she was right.”

Ikemen paused. The wet cloth hovered an inch from the wound edge, before it returned to dab at the angry and inflamed flesh, and Mantaro hissed and gasped each time the damp flannel touched on the cut itself. The blood from his forearm vanished and exposed the huge muscles inherent to his family, while the cut revealed showed that it was shallow in nature . . . enough to bleed heavily, but not deep enough to guarantee death. A low chuckle escaped Mantaro, as tears threatened to build again . . . _so much a failure even suicide was beyond his reach . . ._

“Mantaro, why didn’t you _tell_ anyone you felt this way?”

Mantaro winced. He rapidly blinked and stirred where he lay, until a quick hand held him down against the bed and a low voice shushed him in an attempt to soothe him, and the grand fatigue that swept through him left him in no position to force the matter. He wanted to hide. He wanted to run. Mantaro yanked his wrist away from Ikemen, so that he could bury his face into his hands and claw at his face as the tears threatened to return. Quick and jerked breaths wracked his frame, while Ikemen wrung the flannel and placed it aside.

“I didn’t want to be a bother,” muttered Mantaro.

“In what way? This isn’t something that –”

“What was I supposed to tell people?” Mantaro sniffed and wiped at his face. “If I just came out and said I was planning on killing myself, people would freak out. Hell, even if I just said I felt really depressed, people would panic and worry and get depressed, too. This isn’t something easily fixed, Ikemen. It won’t go away. How can I just tell them how I feel?

“I couldn’t live with that, like knowing I’d ruined their day. I don’t want them spending all day, every day, worrying if _now_ is the moment I chose to do it . . . _‘oh, I better text him, make sure he’s alive’ . . ._ plus, some of them never cared to start with! I don’t want false sympathy and pretend love, because if they didn’t care before -? And that’s not including those that’d say I’m doing it for attention, like this was some grand plan to get extra validation.

“I didn’t want people to change around me, or just to – I don’t know – spread the shit around, I guess. They’re all dealing with crap in their lives, so what right have I to make them feel worse about stuff? I’m supposed to dump my problems onto theirs? Yeah, right. I’d rather just suffer alone than have a group of us all suffering together, because who does that?”

“Mantaro, we would have helped you. We _could_ have helped you –”

“I kept looking at my phone, you know?” Mantaro laughed. “You have a whole company to run and politics to deal with, and Terry has his family back home and a social life here, and Rinko has her exams to worry about, because the finals are super hard. I didn’t want anyone to have to rearrange their lives to accommodate me. I didn’t want to be an inconvenience.”

A sad smile swept over Mantaro. He awkwardly pulled himself into a sitting position, only to sway and pale as his vision grew blurred, and Ikemen helped him properly onto the mattress, so that he could sit back against the headrest. The memories of his last day out with Terry and the gang flooded back . . . _Meat begging them to help out, Terry rearranging his schedule . . ._ no one said it was a problem, but no one needed to say it aloud. Mantaro said nothing, even as Ikemen sat beside him and placed a hand on his knee and squeezed.

“That’s a lot to deal with alone,” said Ikemen.

“Yeah, but I have a duty to protect people, don’t I?” Mantaro sighed. “I spent too long being selfish and childish, and how many people did I hurt that way? I want to be a better person, I do, but I need to atone for my mistakes and I don’t do that by worrying them.”

“You can’t exactly atone for anything _dead_ , Mantaro.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather be dead than worry them.”

“And no one would grieve when you die?”

The tears finally fell afresh. A terrible pain constricted in his chest, as he doubled over and pulled his knees to his chin, and once more he wept until bloodshot eyes were forced to close, as his vision was erased by the stinging sweat and may tears. The memories flooded back . . . _criticism after losing the finals, chastisement for his actions, punishment by his trainers . . ._ pretending to be injured while Seiuchin was hurt, siding with Sunshine as a referee . . . too many mistakes to be forgiven. Mantaro cried out a long and low howl.

“I – I know they’d care,” confessed Mantaro. “I just – I just . . .”

“I thought about suicide once, too.” Ikemen audibly swallowed. “It’s no secret that my childhood was difficult, especially when Jacqueline was born. I felt unloved, unwanted, and it was only compounded the older she became, as she was this beautiful creature and I -? I was always reminded that I was nothing like her. It’s not a nice feeling to feel inadequate.”

“So you wanted to die, too?”

“I didn’t want to die,” said Ikemen. “I just wanted the pain to stop. I was being teased all the time, even as an adult, and – yes – I do remember how you would tease, too, like my love for dolls and my personal collection. It’s . . . It’s difficult. Your friends tease you, too, and I bet many of them never give much thought to how you react, but well . . .

“Do they know how you feel about matters? I know I was always very secretive, so Jacqueline never realised the extent of my self-loathing. My father would comment on my appearance, my friends would tease me of my interests . . . I was afraid to show my face or speak my mind, always so paranoid of their reactions, but no one ever knew. It built inside me and it was all I could think about. I didn’t think there was a way out.”

“How’d you snap out of it?” Mantaro sniffed. “What made it go away?”

“To be honest, it didn’t. It still lingers on me like a shadow, with some days darker than others, but I sought out a counsellor and opened up more to my friends. It became that they were like a beacon of light, and every confession I made unloaded a weight from my back, so that now – even when I feel worthless – I still feel _something_ for their support.”

Ikemen leaned back and smiled. He gazed up at the ceiling, while his legs stretched out across the sheets, and he kept his hand on Mantaro, as if afraid to let go lest he lose Mantaro again in all the chaos of emotions. Mantaro sniffed. He leaned to his side and rested his head on a broad shoulder, and Ikemen – with a confused hum and a furrow of his brow – finally looked back to him and draped an arm around him with a sigh. Mantaro smiled back, as he experienced his first hug for so long from anyone not related by blood. Ikemen asked:

“I hope I have not made matters worse?”

The concern was writ across his features . . . the purse of his lips and the widening of his eyes, while a shuddered breath escaped him . . . a swirling of nausea built inside Mantaro, as a wave of guilt swept over him, and – throwing himself upright – he forced a smile and winked at Ikemen with artificial laughter. He lifted his uninjured hand high in a gesture of a cocked gun, before he threw himself back with a melodramatic air. Ikemen frowned and sighed. He was clearly unconvinced, but Mantaro continued to smile and joked:

“How can it be any worse? I tried to kill myself.”

“Ah, I see what you’re doing,” said Ikemen. “You’re using humour as a coping mechanism. I know it might help ease the pain, but all you’re doing is preventing people from getting close to you and building a wall between you and them. You’re creating distance.”

“Yeah, but they don’t worry so much when I act the fool.”

“And better that they judge the fool façade than risk them judging the real you?”

Mantaro froze. Every muscle in his body tensed. He brought his hands underneath his head, while he crossed his legs at the ankle, and he turned his gaze away from Ikemen, even as Ikemen groaned and slid down the bed beside him. They lay together, side-by-side, and an awkward silence broke about the bedroom. The quickening of his heartbeat brought Mantaro to reality, as he swallowed hard and chewed on his lip. A second joke died on his lips, but – without something to break the tension – there was nothing left to say.

“Mantaro, why did you do this to yourself?”

“It was a few months back,” confessed Mantaro. “I had an upcoming match against Kevin, remember? Like, the crowds wanted to see an exhibition match between the champion and the runner-up, and with life just being so – so – so fucking _miserable_ already . . .” Mantaro sighed and shook his head. “I made a promise to myself. If I won, I’d go on living, but if I lost then I’d take it as a sign and just walk away and kill myself. I knew what I’d do.

“I didn’t have any doubt in my mind . . . I’d kill myself. I don’t want to be the failure any longer; I’m the joke, the nuisance, the guy that annoys people even when he’s trying his best to make them laugh and smile, and all I can _do_ is make them laugh or smile! I’ve spent so long being the joker that they went, I don’t even know who I am any more.”

A tear rolled down his cheek. It fell against the pillow, which was uncomfortably wet from tears and sweat, and he rolled his head back to stare upward, where he counted the odd stains on the ceiling that was due for a good repaint. Ikemen moved his hand. It rested between them, where the fingertip brushed against a muscular thigh. Mantaro breathed shallow and fast, as his lips trembled and nose ran, but – after his body tensed to the point of pain – shot out his hand and grabbed onto Ikemen. The small gesture grounded him.

“I – I don’t know who I am, Ikemen.” Mantaro wiped at his eyes. “I just know what I’m _not_! I . . . I’m not handsome, or intelligent, or talented. If it weren’t for my parents, what even would I have in life? I’ve got a shack in a park and a broken career record, but meanwhile everyone else has all these successes and careers and thriving social lives . . .

“Is it wrong that I’m jealous? I – I try to talk to them sometimes. I’ll drop the façade and just – I don’t know – be myself . . . my real self . . . they’ll just say I’m being a downer, or that I’m being stupid, or they’ll get angry that I’m asking questions that they don’t want to be an answer, and I’m just expected to shrug it off and smile. If it’s not important to them, they don’t get why it’d be important to me, and maybe . . . maybe I’m the one that’s not important.”

He gripped hard onto Ikemen’s hand. A slight flexing of Ikemen’s fingers betrayed his pain, enough that Mantaro loosened his grip, but – before he could pull away with loud cry – Ikemen entwined their fingers and held tight in return. He would not let Mantaro leave. _He wouldn’t leave him_. Mantaro burst into tears. He threw himself over onto Ikemen, while he buried his face against the iron chest-plate, and he wept in earnest as Ikemen ran his hands over his back and shoulders. A few long hums escaped Ikemen, as he whispered:

“You’re important to me, Mantaro.”

Mantaro clawed at Ikemen, as wracked sobs consumed him. He was pulled tightly against that chest, until legs entwined with his against the sheets, and soft kisses were placed upon his head, while his mouth contorted in a desperate search for oxygen. The tears continued until there were no more left to shed. Ikemen brushed back his tuft of brunet hair, while tilting Mantaro’s head to see his forced smile, and Mantaro could only choke out:

“Will Jacqueline hate me?”

The smile faded into a frown. Ikemen slowly sat upright, while guiding Mantaro’s head onto his lap, and – as he sat cross-legged – he rolled Mantaro on his back, so that they could lock eyes and maintain that tenuous connection. Mantaro turned away with a blush, while he stared absently into the distance at the wall opposite. A silence fell between them. The room was relatively sound-proofed, but outside a clatter of room-service rolled by and some brief conversation could be heard, and yet the outside world remained unknown. Ikemen asked:

“Why would she hate you?”

“Because I’m telling this to you,” murmured Mantaro. “I love her so much. Jacqueline’s . . . Jacqueline’s beautiful and intelligent and passionate and selfless and talented, and I know she’d always comfort me and care for me, and she always _has_ comforted me and cared for me, but . . . I don’t want to hurt her! Telling you this -? It’s – It’s different, you know?”

“I think I understand,” confessed Ikemen.

“You’re my friend, but in a different way. I think – I think the distance helps . . . I know you’re not judging me or freaking out or going to internalise it all, like I’m just adding to your shit and making things worse. I worry with Jacqueline, but it’s like . . .”

“. . . it’s like you’re _expected_ to tell them everything.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Mantaro laughed. “They ask why you didn’t trust them, but I do trust them! I trust my friends and my family and my girlfriend. I’d die for them if they just asked, and I’d never question anything they asked of me, as I know they’ve only my best interests in heart, but ask me to bear my soul to them -? It’s different. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Like it should be the other way around?”

“Yeah, like my job is to protect them. It’s not up to them to protect me. If suddenly I’m going to them for help and support, what good am I? It’s the only thing I’m good at! I saved Rinko. I saved Meat. If they suddenly had to start saving me, I really would feel worthless.”

Mantaro jerked upright. He sat awkwardly beside Ikemen, with his weight braced on both hands, and – with a blush – locked eyes with the blue of Ikemen. They shared a long look, before Mantaro sat back and ran his hands over his face. A low laugh escaped him. He smiled and tilted back his head, while he dropped his hands into his lap, and he cricked his neck with several long hisses, as his eyes wandered about the room. Ikemen smiled back. There were no words or movements, as he waited for Mantaro to be the one to break the quiet between them.

“That’s the first time I ever said that aloud,” said Mantaro.

The weight in his shoulders dropped. Every muscle relaxed and tension fled his body, while the world span back into focus and clarity struck his vision. In all the chaos, he lost track of his phone, but he thought back to the times where he would scroll through his contacts . . . _‘I can’t disturb her when –’, ‘they wouldn’t want to listen to me talk about –’ . . ._ Mantaro scratched at the back of his neck. His eyes watered. The pain still balled in his chest, heavy and hard, but there was something lighter about his mind. Ikemen softly asked:

“Do you want to keep talking?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” said Mantaro. “Would you – ah – listen?”

Ikemen smiled and slid back. The space between them was enough to relieve any pressure, but close enough to remind him that he was not alone. Mantaro moved to sit directly opposite, as both sat cross-legged and locked gazes with gentle smiles, and Mantaro struggled to hold back his rapid heartbeat, as – for the first time – he prepared to talk about issues that had burned inside him for years. Ikemen extended a hand and nodded.

“Talk to me,” whispered Ikemen.

Mantaro finally unleashed his heart, as tears fell free . . .  


End file.
